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Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Writhing their stunted limbs,
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
At these masses the snow hides from me.
When Arctic winds crack down from Canada
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
The bees are buzzing,
A pallid yellow lingers
Are muffled into silence that refuses
Appear to lift up from the lake;
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass